Page 24 of Behind the Scenes
“Even if you go down with me?”
She leaned forward, coming closer.
“Either we both go down or neither of us does. Plus, if I get caught, I’ll make sure we share a cell. Money is a wonderful thing, as I’m sure you know.”
“You would throw away everything just to be stuck in a cell with me for god knows how long?”
My mind was racing through all the possibilities. I could fight it. But she was right. Money was a hell of a thing. She could easily choose a detective who would take her money, bonus points if he hated me.
“I would. Wouldn’t it be solovelyif you and I shared a jail cell? There would be no running away then. You’d be stuck with me. Forever.”
I take back thesanepart.
“I’ll look it over,” I grumbled. “But you have to leave. You’ve overstayed your welcome.”
She just gave me another smile and put her coffee down on the counter with a small clink.
“I’ll see you soon, darling. Please do let me know what you think of the contract. My number’s in there too.”
“Harley?” I asked, turning to her. “Why me?”
She never replied as she walked out the door, still wearing my clothes.
laura
. . .
Ithought she couldn’t get any crazier… But I was proven wrong as soon as I started to read through the contract.
It had taken me all morning to get to it, the weight of it in my bag feeling like a ton. Even as I placed it on my desk, I couldn’t stop looking at it.
It’s a stack of papers, for God’s sake.
But that didn’t stop the annoying urge I had to stop everything and read each line thoroughly to see what the crazy murderer wanted from me.
Once my meetings were done, I locked my office door and told my assistant not to let anyone bother me.
I gave in and ripped open my bag, pulling out the stack of papers only for a disbelieving laugh to leave my lips.
“What the actual…”
It wasn’t a contract for my representation at all.It was a fucking relationship contract.
Everything in me was telling me to run far away from it. From her. From this fucked-up situation I found myself in.
And yet… I brought out one of the red markers that I kept in my right-hand drawer and started reading.
It wasn’t awful, but there were obviouslysome glaring issues.
Did she write this up herself?
I struck out a clause that stated I would have to have surveillance on me at all times, then paused, the red ink of the marker starting to bleed into the page.
What the fuck am I doing? I can’t seriously be considering this.
Her threats from earlier weighed heavily on my shoulders.
She had footage. Of me.Footage that could not only destroy my career but also all the clients I represented. There were so many big players out there that wanted to see me destroyed. As soon as they found out I had been compromised, they would come baring their teeth like starving wolves.
